the trees, and then scrambled somehow through the swamp to the
mainland.

Henry sighed. Despite his own friendly feeling, the bear, warned
by instinct, was afraid of him, and, as he was bound to
acknowledge to himself, the bear's instinct was doubtless right.
He rose, went into the hut, and slept heavily through the night.
In the morning he left the islet once more to scout in the
direction of the Indian camp, but he found it a most dangerous
task. The woods were full of warriors hunting. As he had
judged, the game was abundant, and he heard rifles cracking in
several directions. He loitered, therefore, in the thickest of
the thickets, willing to wait until night came for his
enterprise. It was advisable, moreover, to wait, because be did
not see yet just how he was going to succeed. He spent nearly
the whole day shifting here and there through the forest, but
late in the afternoon, as the Indians yet seemed so numerous in
the woods, he concluded to go back toward the islet.

He was about two miles from the swamp when he heard a cry, sharp
but distant. It was that of the savages, and Henry instinctively
divined the cause. A party of the warriors had come somehow upon
his trail, and they would surely follow it. It was a mischance
that he had not expected. He waited a minute or two, and then
heard the cry again, but nearer. He knew that it would come no
more, but it confirmed him in his first opinion.

Henry had little fear of being caught, as the islet was so
securely hidden, but he did not wish to take even a remote chance
of its discovery. Hence he ran to the eastward of it, intending